


Mormor Sonnet Suite

by NotTonightJosephine



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambivalent Seb, Artful Jim, Bitter Seb, Blank Jim, Caring Seb, Desperate Jim, F/F, Faithful Jac, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light BDSM, M/M, Manic Jim, Patient Augie, Pining Seb, Poetry, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Reflective Seb, Sombre Jim, Teasing Jim, Unimpressed Seb, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTonightJosephine/pseuds/NotTonightJosephine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm writing a series of poems about the relationship between Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran.<br/>Sonnets are love poems, but we all know these two don't love like ordinary people do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kissing Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for reference to Jim's torture at the hands of Mycroft's men in Season Two, and implied rape.

I would have you by the window, formerly full of stars,  
In this small old room, in the grey-green light of dawn.  
Or I would unwind you one orange afternoon, your toes  
Tanned against the white sand, sun low in my dark hair.

I would let you have me in the red of evening, hunter a  
Shadow on velvet paws, long fingers and bloody breath.  
Or with your ultraviolet smile glowing through our city  
Smoke and secrecy. Come to me, in me, in small hours.

I had to let them have me, crush my lungs against their  
Concrete walls. Fluorescent lights an unblinking white,  
Glass a blank black. Grind my bones. Rinse and repeat.

I need this, please Seb, let me have you here, under me  
On these clean blue sheets. I want our bones to kiss, to  
See your silk skin shift over warm muscles, to feel free.


	2. What Dread Hand

I play a game of guess what Jim is thinking  
And I lose every time. Lose myself to every  
Cryptic text and riddling smile. Your eyes  
Are honey in sunlight, glowing, viscous,

Vicious black by night. What worlds turn  
Inside you. What sun sets in your dark hair.  
I see you, undiscovered country. Do you,  
Like I do, see the skull beneath the skin.

Or is it like mercury, all communication,  
Creation, destruction. Fingers on the keys  
And a crescendo coming, maestro. Finally  
Someone you would love to swallow whole.

But what do I know. I just sleep beside you,  
Squeeze the trigger, feed you, need you.


	3. Sky-Eyed Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pipwasreal on tumblr btw, and I usually post these there first under my pipwrites tag. Bonus features include working titles and rambling headcanons. (If you reblog my poems I read your tags and I squee).

I consider you a psychopomp like Mercury  
Winged boots and rifle at the ready to send  
Death something nice. A soul wrapped up  
In silver paper, or a body bag will do. You

Mocking messenger, crooked smirk ruining  
The illusion of a venerable avenging angel.  
You were meant to shine in darkness. But

I tell this story, and you are so much more  
Than what you could have been. Your eyes  
Glitter, clear of spiderwebs and wings and  
Thoughts of any sort at all. It’s endearing.

Now you only ask how high when I tell you  
To fly. A fall is a fall and I fell for you, soul  
Thief. Worn warm idol glowing with scars.


	4. Sense of Duty

I return and the first thing I smell, after  
Your blueberry tea, no longer steaming,  
Is the hot dust scent of danger, and of

Electronics overheating. Sudden silence  
Follows the frantic whirr of fans, then a  
Tell-tale tick-tick-tick of settling metal.

This is not a minefield, but I still learnt  
To tread lightly. On bad days you look

Empty. But I know to lay you out and  
Pin you down. Just until you blink again.  
Ground-down gears tend to slip, Jimmy. 

It’s been forty-two hours since your last  
Rest. And if you keep on skipping sleep  
So help me I will drug your fucking tea.


	5. His Work To See

I like you in landscape, settled on your side  
And watching me watch you. Or watchful,  
Belly to the concrete and eye to the scope.  
Or flat on your back and just a teensy bit

Afraid. I like you dynamic, ever in motion  
With that fluid grace and spare frame dear  
God you turn me on. I could watch you do  
Anything, I’d meet your fist coming at me

With a smile. I like you sketchy, messy as  
Only a soldier at ease can be. Whiskey and  
Soft cotton, cheeks hollow around a smoke.  
Panting in pleasure or writhing in pain, it’s

All the same to me. Forgive me, for I have  
Dreamed of getting my hands dirty again.


	6. Missing You

I still have a laugh at _tired clubber’s eyes_  
As if you aren’t bloodshot every day by  
Dinner time. But staring at screens for  
Web-work doesn’t explain why you

Already owned those pants. Is this  
Self-portrait a twink or a trickster?

Or a mixture, like your oh-so earnest  
Storyteller. Rabbit in headlights versus

Fox in ermine clothing. In the space of  
A song, you went from tourist to king.

So go on, smile and smile and be a  
Good old-fashioned villain. Play gay,  
Or insane, or even sweet. Perform for  
Anyone, just please come home for me.


	7. Mrs Me?

August Patricia Moran do you  
Take this Spider to be your law-  
Lessly wedded wife? I said I’d  
Never stuff you in a white dress  
And now I haven’t actually lied.

You keep a cosh where your tit  
Used to be, even on our big day.  
Even under your cream silk tie,  
And over your thundering heart.

Augie, darling, nothing changes,  
Not even me, not really. We are  
Everything we ever were and

All we’ll ever be. Side by side,  
You and I. A tiger and a magpie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this... happened. fem!mormor weddingAU?? Enjoy your fluff dammit.  
> James Moriarty becomes Jacqueline Moriarty, Sebastian Moran becomes August Moran, to retain the name meanings.  
> Like Sebastian, August fought a tiger in a drainpipe. Unlike Sebastian, she needed an emergency mastectomy when her chest wound became infected. The left cup of her bra is a cosh-pocket now.


	8. Something Old

Jacqueline Brigid Moriarty, did you  
Mean to be my Sun? Blinding bright  
You shame the stars, whisper myths,

Storyteller. Your pretty little actress  
Brooke Rich never earned that name.  
Never turned the world as you could.

Mediocre minds want to know, Jac,  
Do you really burn so brightly? Did  
You really die and then come back?

For me? For a tree that grew crooked  
But flourished under you, or a big cat  
Basking, or a satellite with a scarred

Hide and her insides tidal-locked. I am   
All yours. With these rings, I thee orbit.


	9. Rinse and Repeat

I wake up in the morning and I forget.

These blue sheets are smooth and clean,  
My eyes are wet. You make me tea.

Your name is Seb. I’m allowed to take  
Your hand and turn it over in my hands  
And trace every bruise and every burn.

Nothing suggests itself. I cannot make  
Shapes by drawing lines between scars.

You’re so gentle. You move so slowly.

I dreamt of shaking hands with somebody.  
I don’t remember. I dab paint on paper.

My hands shake. You make me tea, and  
Ask me what I’m painting. I’m painting  
Dots, Seb. What else should they be.


	10. Get Well Soon

I wake up every day and I remember.

I rifle through files, your mind in my  
Hands, your head in my lap. Stubble  
And scar tissue over a titanium plate.

You do things he never used to, cry  
And choke and drool. Even a sniper’s   
Patience can waver. Even a lover’s.

I can’t forget where your lips have been.

But there is work to do. Tea for you,  
Coffee for me, double shot, make it   
Irish. Whole grey days pass in silence.

I move slowly so as not to spook you.  
You keep your face turned toward me  
Like a moon, stare wide-eyed as prey.


	11. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful weweremadeforeachothersherlock on tumblr made this poem and the next one into graphics. You can see them [here](http://pipwasreal.tumblr.com/post/154706109011/).

I recommend bedrest, and a bullet wound.  
Nothing else has ever cleared the cobwebs  
Quite as well. I know you tried, I suspect  
You’ve been through hell. But I’m back.

I’ve retrieved my scattered constellations,  
Dusted off my glass marbles, convalesced.

Now I think I’m going to live for years and  
Years and years. I think I might be cursed.

A medical marvel, a miracle, a magic trick.  
Were you watching closely? There’s been  
Spring cleaning going on in Eastern Europe  
Too. I’ll reweave my web of silken threads

Soon. But first, say you missed this, missed  
My mastery. Bastian, o my bastion. Say it.


	12. Reincarnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful weweremadeforeachothersherlock on tumblr made this poem and the previous one into graphics. You can see them [here](http://pipwasreal.tumblr.com/post/154706109011/).

I missed this, pressing you against the wall  
By your long neck and not caring if it hurts.

Your eyes are bright and expectant, full of  
Fire. I ought to tear out your throat for the  
Trouble you’ve caused me. You own me,  
But now you owe me too. Gasp for breath,

Lick your lips, submit. Go on, impress me.

True, I asked where your body had been laid  
And if I could take it away. Forgive my doubt,  
I should have known you’d outwit the Devil  
Trying to win your bloody Game. Drop my

Beretta and the bravado, Jim. Your rebirth  
Cost us both years of work. Reimburse me.

You’re going to have to earn my trust again.


	13. Spin (Or Are Spun)

The plasticity of plastic is not what makes it  
Take so long to degrade. My changeability is  
A weakness. But malleable is not manipulable.

I cannot be blackmailed, bullied, or bribed.  
But I do get bored. Some days that means  
Doing things I do not want to do. One day

That might mean hurting you. I am a brain,  
Everything else is entertainment. He was the  
Best distraction, and now I don’t even have him.  
But I do have you, unbeaten. The next best thing.  
The second-most dangerous person in London.

Under me, above me, around me, inside me,  
Wearing me smooth and whetting me sharp.  
I can work with that, if you can work with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Paul Muldoon's brilliant ['Starlings, Broad Street, Trenton, 2003'](http://pbqmag.org/paul-muldoon-starlings-broad-street-trenton-2003/). His unconventional sonnet styles, and Ben Lerner's ['The Lichtenberg Figures'](https://www.coppercanyonpress.org/pages/browse/book.asp?bg=%7B4565B659-B8C4-4F59-9411-6214146127B8%7D), inspired me to experiment with form in this suite. So. If you're a contemporary poetry nerd like me, check 'em out!


	14. Dear Jim

This is the calm after the cauldron, and we are  
Forging through the wreckage, the churn of  
Records, the grind. I'm not afraid of a little  
Hard work, but admit you barely deserve this.

I bet my having the last word really rankles.  
Well tough, my love, you ask too much, ask for  
Unconditional consolation. Still I see you, and I'll  
Exceed all your expectations, erase any reservations

Raised by my once and future king. Steel and stone,  
We are. Or could have been, without our bloody hearts.  
What humiliation, being human. You're only mortal  
After all. Reduced to this, some fucked-up bliss.

I'll love you 'til you remember what love is,  
And even after. Yours forever, Sebastian.


End file.
